Monday, 19 December 2016

Dear [you],

Dear [you],

I’m not going to tell you that you’re beautiful. I’m not going to say that I go the long way to class just to pass you in the hall, or that a glance and a smile from you gets me through the day. I’m not going to say how fucking attractive you are, because I know it won’t mean a thing.

You spend so much time worrying what other people think about you. I can see it everywhere, and it makes me sad. You grasp at every bit of proof that you are enough, refreshing your likes on Instagram just hoping for another sign that people think you’re beautiful. I’m not really sure what to do.

So I’m not going to say that. To be honest, I don’t think I should say anything. The only person whose opinion should matter is yours, and the only way to truly control that opinion is to let go of what everyone else thinks.

But this is stupid, I have to say something. So I’ll say this.

You are one of the kindest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. You give so much passion and generosity to everyone you meet, and you do it because you know it makes them happy. You’re unselfish with your time and you don’t give yourself enough credit. And you’re smart. Like, stupid smart. Brilliant smart. The kind of smart where I want to stay up all night talking because I know you’ll understand. You’re understanding. We all need someone to listen, someone to simply say “I hear what you’re saying, I feel what you’re going through.” You can pick me up when I’m down. You can make me laugh. Not just chuckle, or smile, but really fucking laugh. You’re okay with being silly, with saying stupid shit and not caring who hears because it is genuinely funny. It’s genuine. It takes courage and vulnerability to be so unapologetically you.

So no, I’m not going to tell you that you’re beautiful. You are so much more than that. And if you valued everything else the way you value being considered attractive, you’d love yourself as much as I do.